


Lady of Bronze

by Hot_Mild_Sweet_n_Salty



Category: Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffrey
Genre: Bronze riders, Brown riders, I'm not sorry, Most of the main characters are OCs, Oc and her family, Original Character-centric, but - Freeform, free writing, i have a vague idea, no specific plot, theres really no specific plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22768927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_Mild_Sweet_n_Salty/pseuds/Hot_Mild_Sweet_n_Salty
Summary: Anya was born and raised on her family's farm, the youngest of ten children. As the only girl, it was expected she become a housewife and carry on the family line, but Benden Weyr has other plans in mind for her.They though she was queen potential. One thing was for certain-her dragon was very shiny.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 17





	Lady of Bronze

**Author's Note:**

> This story doesn't really have a specific plot. I was just writing for the fun of it. I hope you guys enjoy it though. I thrive on feedback and concrit, and if you come up with an awesome idea and leave it in the comments, you may have some pull on how this story goes. Uh..... enjoy, I guess.

Anya was so very tired of goats. Every single day of her life, she was up at dawn to take care of the simple-minded beasts without anything in return. She fed them, she cleaned their pens, she assisted in births seemingly every moon that passed. And in return, she got bitten and headbutted and screamed at. Her brothers weren’t much help. They chucked hay bales and moved wheelbarrows of shit. So much shit. The goats were always _shitting_. So, Anya was very tired of them. 

Tipping her head back to stare up into the clear sky, Anya sighed deeply. The day after tomorrow, she would be eighteen Turns. The twins had just become twenty a moon ago, on the Thirdday of the Fifth month. It had been warm then, the suffocating heat making her skin sticky with perspiration. But now, the days drew shorter and the temperature lessened. The goats heeded not, continuing their mindless daily shifts of eating and mating and shitting—always, _always_ shitting. Her stomach pinched lightly, alerting her to its need for food. 

Anya huffed, shaking off her reverie and buffeting away a billy with her shepherding staff. She wasn’t so different from the goats, really. She spent every day doing the same menial and mindless tasks, watching over ungrateful goats, eating when the sun reached its zenith, defecating when she got the chance. At least she had the cognizance to despise her meaningless existence. The goats demanded her attention, bleating angrily for food. Rolling her eyes, Anya retrieved a hay bale from the barn and slashed the bindings with her old dagger (which was in a desperate need of replacement), allowing the long, green-gold fibers to spill out from their condensed form to fill the trough. She fought against the shoving animals, attempting to spread out the hay some, before giving up and retreating to a safe distance.

Climbing up the small hill at the back of the property owned by her family, Anya seated herself in the slightly damp grass and pulled out her own lunch—semi-stale bread left over from that morning and goat cheese, with a bruised peach for dessert. She ate and drank from her skin and allowed herself to relax, her mind wandering.

Anya wished more than anything to become a rider. She remembers tales from her youth told by her father, passed down by his own father. Tales of giant scaled dragons, varying from the color of molten gold to the rich, earthy brown of the ground to the color of open seas unexplored by man. Epic stories of soaring through storms of deadly Thread, the smell of phosphene on the wind as the silver spores were burned to dust. Songs sung of Weyrwoman Lessa, who traveled five hundred Turns in the past to bring back Dragonriders to fight against Thread by her side, on the back of her gilded Queen. Anya was aware Lessa was still alive—the woman was showing how the last thirty-five Turns of chasing and destroying Thread had aged her. It was claimed that her once wild black hair had turned almost silver, and the once brilliant hide of her mount Ramoth began to dull around the muzzle. 

She imagined herself in place of her grandfather—she had always imagined herself as Lessa in the past, but once she learned Queens didn’t actually have much function outside of breeding more dragons (she grimaced at the thought, unable to think of anything but _goats_ ), so her views quickly shifted. He had been bonded to a blue, but Anya always dreamt of more. She imagined the long, sleek stretch of Bronze hide, the ripple of powerful muscles beneath her, the stench of superheated air and scorched fibrous spores falling uselessly to the ground below. She shivered, imagining the bite of between, the burn of Thread scores, the wind tearing at her eyes and hair. 

“Anya!” Her eyes lowered, meeting the grinning face of the elder twin Siebel. Bennet was close on his heels, an identical grin stretching across his freckled face. “Anya, you were daydreaming again. You know how Mum feels about that.”

Anya rolled her eyes, taking an indignant bite of her peach. “Eat goat shit, Siebel.” He cackled at her, throwing himself down in the grass next to her. Bennet lowered himself on her other side, reclining on his elbows to gaze up at the sky.

“You dream of Dragons again, Anya?” She looked back up at the cloudless sky, humming assent to Bennet’s question. The three youngest of the family shared a special bond, forged over room-sharing and goat-herding. They were friends, which Anya had very short supply of outside of the family. While the boys were permitted to take turns going into town with Camden, Anya was forced to stay home and use those days off learn to be a ‘proper housewife’ per her mother’s demand. But Anya didn’t want to become a housewife, nor did she want to raise goats for the rest of her life. She wanted to ride dragons. 

Siebel and Bennet’s banter faded into the background as her eyes traced the sky, imagining the form of a giant Bronze, flanked by Browns and Blues and Greens, roaring his dominance over the earth and sky. There was a burst of freezing cold air, and like out of a dream, a wing of dragons made their existence known.  
Siebel yelped in surprise and Bennet scrambled to his feet. The goats screamed down below; the sudden appearance of predators much larger than them frightening them. A small part of Anya’s brain laughed, imagining the beasts trying to run away in fear only for their legs to betray them and stiffen, bowling them all to the ground. There was a distant call for the three of them to come back to the house, most likely Antony, the middle child, if the raspy tenor was anything to go by. They shoved their leftover food back into their pouches, discarding half-eaten fruit to the ground, and took off for the house.

“Dragons!” Anya’s voice was filled with glee, her legs pumping faster to where the dragons had landed, spread out across the property near the house. A Brown rested his wheeling opalescent eye on the barking dogs before turning away. Men climbed down from the backs of the beasts, though some remained on their mounts with other people clinging to their arms. The rider of the Bronze was speaking leisurely with Camden. Their mother clung to the back of his tunic, Eyes wide and brimming with tears.

The three youngest skid to a stop, huffing air and beaming excitedly. Siebel immediately began to babble, voicing his admiration for the dragons and the riders and wondering why they had stopped at his family’s humble farm. “Siebel,” Anya snapped, “Shut up.” He closed his mouth, flushing when he realized the Bronze rider was focusing on him, eyes amused.

“My Bronze brought us here,” the man replied, easily answering everyone’s question of his presence at the farm. “Xanchiorth tells me there are more than one potential rider here.” His eyes landed heavy on the youngest three, the dark depths glittering. “I see now that he is quite right.”

He turned to Camden and their mother and bowed deeply, placing a hand over his heart. Anya’s eyes widened at the Thread burn that marred the back of it, disappearing into his sleeve. “Benden Weyr asks the presence of your three children, as potential riders against the Thread—” his eyes flicked over to Anya— “and possibly a Queen.” Her mother stiffened, her jaw set.

“No. You will not take my babies, my only daughter. I refuse to let you.”

“Mother,” Camden hissed. The Bronze rider straightened, his eyes hardening. Their mother recoiled as he stared at her. 

“Miss, I mean no disrespect. This is merely a formality. Truly, it is up to the candidates to decide whether they go or stay.” He turned back to face the trio. “So?” Anya shoved past the twins, puffing her chest out.

“Absolutely!”

“Absolutely not!” Her mother shrilled. 

“I will go,” Bennet said, his soft voice determined.

“Me too,” Siebel agreed. Their mother wailed, but they ignored her. Camden hushed her, leading her back into the house. The other brothers dispersed, though Antony hovered to listen in on what was to be said next.

“So, it is settled. We will allow you half of an hour to pack your most important belongings and say goodbye to your family.” They nodded, turning their separate way. Anya halted at the gaze of Antony.

“Does this mean I have to watch over the goats now?”

: :

Anya and the twins didn’t need the full half hour to say their goodbyes. They packed light, only bringing some trinkets they had been gifted over the years and Anya’s favorite skirt. The older brothers had all gathered to say farewell (except for Camden—he remained in the house to placate their mother, who refused to see them off).  
Anya was made to climb on the back of the Bronze Xanchiorth. She met the jealous gaze of another woman who looked to be slightly older than her before her vision was cut off by the rider’s arm.

“Hold on to my wrists,” He commanded. She complied silently.

They took off, a small gasp escaping her when they hovered high enough for her to see the full expanse of the property. The animals had calmed, and her bothers had all returned to their duties. Antony and the older Barillas had filtered over from the pheasants and pigs to fill the gap left by the trio. 

“We are going to go between,” the rider said into her ear. “It is cold, dark and empty. You won’t feel anything but your own heartbeat, but do not worry. We will exit it by the time it takes you to cough three times.” Anya nodded, flexing her grip on the man’s wrists.

Darkness surrounded them, and while her breath did catch, Anya refused to scream. The cold pricked her skin, much more extreme than she had imagined—it felt as if she had bathed in ice and then jumped naked in the snow. Her heart ponded in her chest, and she counted the seconds. When they re-emerged, they were over Benden Weyr. Dragons filled the heights, bellowing at their return.  
They lazily spiraled down to the ground, and the Rider helped Anya down, chuckling at her shaky legs. Seibel and Bennet crowded her, laughing with exhilaration and wondering if she found their trip to be anything like her daydreams.

“No,” she breathed, leaning against Seibel’s sturdier form. “It was much better.”

“A’ren!” Anya looked over her shoulder, and her eyes widened when she realized who her escort was thumping shoulders with. Weyrleader F’lar, with Weyrwoman Lessa at his side. She was beautiful, Anya decided. Her hair was still mostly black, with streaks of white making her look mature. Her intelligent green eyes, the same shade as her own, studied the candidates returned, lingering on the women most of all. F’lar was tall and broad, his smile lighting his face and pressing crows-feet at the corner of his eyes. He too greyed at the temples, and Anya could see the shadow of weariness in his eyes.

A’ren (Anya made it a point to remember his name—she didn’t have much knowledge of riders besides the stories passed on from her grandfather) gestured for his wing to come closer and present the candidates. Their dragons took off, flying to the heights to join their brethren. A’ren gestured for Anya and the twins to come closer. They did, and Anya bowed when she met the gaze of Lessa.

“Weyrwoman Lessa, Weyrleader F’lar. It is an honor to be in your presence. My name is Anya.” Lessa smiled at her introduction, commending her deference.

“It is an honor to meet you Anya,” F’lar replied, bowing his head. “There is great potential within you, if your respectful honesty is anything to go by. Tell me, how old are you?”

“I will be eighteen Turns the day after next.” He nodded and turned to face her brothers. They gave a similar introduction as her own, halting when Lessa held up a hand.

“Are the three of you related?” They glanced at one another, and Seibel spoke up.

“Yes ma’am. Bennet here is my twin brother, and Anya is our younger sister. We come from a rather large family, with a total of ten children. We are the youngest of those ten.” Lessa hummed, circling around the three of them. 

“Tell me, young Seibel, has there ever been a Dragonrider in your family?”

“Our father’s father, K’met, for whom our eldest brother Kismet is named. He was bonded with a Blue.”

“I remember K’met,” F’lar murdered. “He was a good man, older than me. His son left the Weyr when he was thirteen. K’met gave his life fighting Thread.” Lessa hummed, eyes lowering thoughtfully.

“If that’s the case, I have no doubt in my mind that at the very minimum, one of you boys will become a rider.” The three siblings glanced at one another, the praise filing their veins with warmth and determination. F’lar and Lessa moved on, greeting the other candidates, and A’ren motioned for the three to follow him.   
He led them through the Weyr, pointing out the training grounds, the hatching bowl, the dining hall. They went to a large barrack-like room carved into the stone and pointed them to the beds at the very far end. Each one was neatly made, a small chest placed at the foot of the beds. “This is where you’ll be staying until the hatching. The waste room is back that way, and there are separated bathing rooms over there. There are temporary clothes in the chests, and you’ll get properly fitted after bonding. Until then, make yourselves comfortable.” He left them then, whistling softly. 

The three siblings looked around; their eyes filled with wonder. Bennet was the first to break the silence, a single laugh escaping his chest and echoing through the cavern. “Guys,” he breathed out. “We’re actually here. Shards, we’re actually here!” He whooped, scooping Anya up and swinging her around in a circle. She laughed loudly, and Siebel joined in their merriment, gripping his siblings in a tight hug. 

“And even if we don’t impress,” Anya said softly, “we’ll still be here, in the Weyr, together.” 

: :

The days passed much too slowly for Anya’s liking. She spent the days along the other girls, learning as much history and role of dragon riders, especially those with the potential to bond a queen. They were fitted for garments, all more expensive than anything she had ever seen before. Smooth wherhide tunics and fur-lined cloaks. Thick woolen pants and airy woven night garments. Embroidered skirts and stockings. 

They began basics of fighting with various weapons, daggers and swords the favorite. Anya excelled in that, having spent so many summer days sparring against the twins as they watched over the goats. She picked up a habit of using the quarterstaff, a weapon most of the others considered cumbersome and far too clunky to consider mastering alongside dragon-riding. But to Anya, it was just like a shepherding staff, a tool she was well acquainted with, whether it be her shuffling the goats and smacking her brothers or receiving a swat for misbehaving (her mother liked to call her a brute, claiming she would never find a husband if she kept up the tomfoolery—Anya grit her teeth and went back out to do the same thing again).

Anya was sitting on her bed scribbling a quick letter for her father in the Hold when a horde of candidates flooded the cavern, shouting excitedly. Seibel and Bennet crowded her, demanding her to change into the hatching garb and twist her hair up. She blinked rapidly, trying to understand the hurry.  
“The eggs, they’re hatching!” Bennet snapped. Anya jumped to action, the revelation jolting through her veins and filling her with excitement. This is it. This was her chance to become a Dragonrider, her chance to be _more_ than her mother and father had planned for her.

She stripped from her outer clothes, not paying any mind to the people around her. They were in the same frenzy, nobody cared if she was half naked. Digging through the chest, she pulled out the long white linen every candidate had fitted for them. She twisted her hair into a quick knot, not taking the time to brush and braid it like the rest of the girls. 

She rushed out with her brothers, the three of them holding on to one another so as to not get lost in the stampede. Anya had never realized just how many people there were. “How many eggs are there?” Anya shouted over the din of stomping feet.

“Forty-two!” Bennet yelled back. Anya rapidly did math in her head—the Weyr wanted two or three candidates per egg, which meant there were probably around a hundred or more kids like her, all trying to become greater than their families expected they could be. Sudden determination lit her veins on fire. She would impress, if she had to fight in the sand for it like a dog. A part of her brain nagged that she couldn’t do that; the hatchlings chose their partners, not the other way around. She ignored it stubbornly. 

At the mouth of the hatching grounds, all the queenriders and their partners awaited the candidates. The group was split into four parts, the smallest one being that of the queen candidates. The girls were vicious, Anya decided, pushing and snarling at one another. The queenriders ignored their antics, handing them all sandals to wear on the hot sands and corralling them the two queen eggs separated from their brethren. 

It was deafening within the bowl of the hatching grounds with the humming of the dragons gathered around the rim, the cheering of riders and holders viewing the event and the shaking of the eggs filled the air. The girls—all of the candidates shifted around, heat and nervousness shaking them up. A crack echoed. The dragons got louder.

Anya watched out the corner of her eye as bronze shattered his egg and staggered out, head swinging back and forth as he searched for his partner. Her attention was dragged to the queen eggs when one tipped over, a thick crack splitting the top. The girls rocked forward on the balls of their feet, anticipation tunneling their vision. The crack grew, splintering the top. The queen within staggered put, her eyes wheeling. Anya felt her heart leap when its eyes settle on her. Chirruping, it made its way towards her.

Anya felt her gut drop when it continued past her, chittering pitifully. The girl to her left—Christa, she thought her name was—gasped loudly, calling out the hatchlings name; “She says her name is Inomuth!”   
The second queen began to shake. Anya felt her expectations build again. All around her, the boys were being mauled by dragonettes that didn’t want them and nuzzled by those that did. Anya thought she had heard both Bennet and Seibel’s voices ring out with joy. 

The second queen hatched, much livelier than her sister. She pounced on one, two, three girls, grasping each in her claws and teeth, shaking them back and forth violently. She continued on, leaving them dead and leaking blood in the golden sands. The hatchling staggered, her wing tangling in her claws. She went down with a yelp, and one of the girls rushed forward to aid the infant creature. Anya felt the excitement within her drain when the girl began to cry, placing her forehead against the queens. 

“Her name is Liusaidth!” 

Anya stood frozen as the other girls filtered out, tears stinging her eyes. She was so sure she would impress. She was going to ride dragons alongside her brothers, burn thread, be respected. Her dream was unrecognized. 

“Anya!” Somebody shouted. “Get out of the way!” She whipped around, eyes widening at the bronze barreling toward her. Her brothers were near the mouth of the bowl, arms wrapped around the necks of their future mounts, mouths hung open in silent screams. Her arms went up instinctively to protect her face.  
There was a sharp pain in her thigh as a single claw tore through the flesh of her thigh, and she was batted over by the dragonettes wing. She scrambled back, eyes wide as the dragonette skidded to a stop and twisted around. Carefully, it approached her, eyes wheeling with worry. It nudged her, and Anya felt the tears that had threatened her before spilling down her face. 

“Brasslredth! His name is Brasslredth!” _Are you okay_? Anya realized it was the voice of her dragon in her mind. “I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine.” A sob wracked her frame, and she wrapped her arms around the dragonettes neck. 

One of the queenriders partners—R’lan her brain supplied—lifted her to her feet, wrapping one of her arms around his shoulder and propping her up. “C’mon kid,” He said softly. “Let’s get you and your partner cleaned up.”

Anya hummed, happiness fuzzing out her pain. Anya impressed. She impressed a Bronze.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't read all of the books (but I have read most of them), and it's been a little while since I've read those ones anyway, so there's probably some random gaps in my world information. If you notice, just point it out and I'll fix it. I usually do research if I need information that isn't obvious though, so hopefully there isn't too much stuff missing.


End file.
